


the light shall lead her safely

by bellezza



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:52:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellezza/pseuds/bellezza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>awed by her splendor<br/>stars near the lovely<br/>moon cover their own<br/>bright faces<br/>when she<br/>is roundest and lights<br/>earth with her silver<br/>—sappho<br/></p><p>A series of drabbles and vignettes about Amell and Leliana's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. awed by her splendor

You are young all over again and newly remade when she steps through the door, and you feel your soul sing.

She is your height, or near enough, with dark hair and skin pale from years spent indoors—you know the look, you have seen it on enough nobles, but it sits differently on her skin, like she's thirsted for the sun her whole life and been denied its blessing. Her eyes are wide, wide enough to swallow up all the light in the world. This is new to her. It is suddenly new to you too.

You are young all over again and remade and ready for your new life when the men step between you and her. Big men, armored, with sharp blades, and you do your best to swallow the unease that claws up to fill your throat. This isn’t the time, this isn’t the  _time_ —and oh, Maker, it’s so blessedly easy to draw your own blade when they do. Then the clamor is a song, the sound of metal on metal is a song,  _you_ are a song. You are filled up with it, lifted higher, and higher, and higher still.

The room is lit up with the flickering torches, and now with the bright arcs of electricity as she draws her staff. If her magic is an extension of her will, and her will is her emotion, then you think that you can feel what she is feeling: her outrage and her fury rumble in the air, energy that swells to fill the room, filling you like the song does, until the soldiers fall.

"Take a message to Loghain," she hisses. The soldiers flee, and you think:  _good_. The Maker has shown her the strength of mercy; she is one you can follow.

"I am Leliana," you tell her, holding out a hand in greeting. Your hand is pale too, almost as pale as hers, from months spent in the cloister in quiet prayer.

She hesitates. She is wary from betrayal, rough at the edges and hurting. She does not trust you; maybe she shouldn’t, but you want her to, so you soften your smile.

When her hand touches yours it sparks through you like her lightning, warms you like a hearth fire.

And she gives you her name too.


	2. allow hope to be mine

"This is stupid," she grumbles, careful to keep her voice low for fear of the villagers overhearing. She's very good at quiet whispers after a lifetime living under templar eyes, ears, and fists. "Hasn't the world heard there's a Blight going on? Nooo, apparently not, because  _some_ thing saw fit to disturb the mystical aether and bring a horde of corpses down upon us too." 

"Shhhh." Leliana reaches out to brush a comforting hand against the Warden's shoulder. "We just need to get these poor villagers through the night, and when we get to the castle in the morning we should be able to clear things right up."

Theia pulls her lip between her teeth and worries it. She's hunched in on herself, arms held close to her body, braced against the chill and against the oppressive, hopeless atmosphere weighing over Redcliffe. Leliana takes the urge to reach out and smooth her thumb over Theia's mouth, and buries it.

"I just don't know how we're going to make it through the night. The blacksmith—"

“—is more than competent at his job, no matter how far into the bottle he is," Leliana finishes.

“And those soldiers. I lied to them. I told them the Maker would protect them."

“You told them what you thought they needed to hear,” Leliana says. Inwardly, she’s glad Theia isn’t comfortable with that particular decision, though she understands why she did it. “We’re all going to get through the night, and it will be because of you."

Theia looks up at her. There are dark circles around her eyes and a cut healing across her forehead, but she’s beautiful. “You really believe that, don’t you?” she asks, and she sounds wistful. Like she wants to believe it too."

“I do."

“Well.” Theia tries for a smile. “That’s something. I suppose I should try to believe it too."


End file.
